


Comeuppance

by pasiphile



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Femdom, Pegging, Strap-Ons, d/s dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 22:08:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1280515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasiphile/pseuds/pasiphile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for prompt: Sherlock/Sally, Sally pegging Sherlock until he's so fucked out he can't even snark at her anymore</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comeuppance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [holyfant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/holyfant/gifts).



Sherlock always paid for the room.

 _It was, after all, far more accepted for a man to go off with a woman than_  – he’d started explaining, and she’d cut him off mid-sentence, because  _yes_ she knew all that. She’d worked in Vice for two years, she probably knew more about this sort of thing than him.

So she lounged at his shoulder, looking bored, suffered the leers of the seedy motel-owners, the other customers.

It was worth it. It was more than worth it.

***

Sherlock had already started stripping before she’d even closed the door.

“Let’s get this over with,” he said impatiently.

She hung her jacket over the chair. “You know, Sherlock, anyone would think you were here against your will.”

He glared at her, pulling his jacket off with an unnecessary amount of aggression. “All I mean is that there’s no sense wasting precious time on unnecessary things. At least,  _my_ precious time.” He smirked at her. “I don’t know how it is for you. Tell me,  _Sergeant_ , are you on duty now?”

“I’m on my break,” she said calmly. She sat down and pulled her shoes off.

“And what did you tell your colleagues? A quick coffee with a friend?”

“None of your business what I tell my colleagues.” She pulled her shirt off and stood back up, unbuckled her belt. “And why aren’t you naked yet?”

He huffed and slid his trousers off, shirt already neatly folded on a chair. She smiled, amused. His legs were a bit too pale and skinny to be attractive, but he did have a nice arse.

“Right.” She stepped out of her trousers, put them aside and took her bag. Sherlock was watching her while taking his shoes off, with his usual closed-off too-intense stare.

That used to throw her off, back when they first did this. Made her nervous, as if he was willing her to fuck up so he could criticise her. It had taken a bit of positive self-talk, telling herself that he’d criticise her even if she did everything perfectly; and more importantly, that it didn’t really matter what he thought. She’d gradually grown used to his staring after that.

These days, she hardly took notice.

She rooted in her bag – god, she’d have to remember to take it all out again when she got home, she didn’t look forward to the security people at court tomorrow leering at her - found what she was looking for and threw it all on the bed. Sherlock stared at it.

“Go on then,” Sally said cheerfully. “Pants off, arse in the air. Thought you said you didn’t want to waste time?”

He cleared his throat and pulled his pants off. He wasn’t hard yet – another one of those things that had thrown her off the first few times – but he did get on the bed quickly enough.

Sally took a moment to enjoy the view while she fastened the harness. He wasn’t bad-looking, Sherlock, in the right light, but it wasn’t that that made her enjoy this so much.

It was the fact that the arrogant unflappable  _Sherlock Holmes_ was waiting for her, on all fours, eager to be fucked.

He looked over his shoulder. “Well?” he said, imperious, commanding.

She calmly attached the dildo to the harness. “You want skip the preparation?”

His lips went thin and he looked back down. “No, obviously. Don’t ask questions you know the answers to, Donovan. It’s boring and predictable.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, sarcastically. “Gloves?”

“Coat pocket.”

She delved into Sherlock’s coat pockets, rummaging around until she found a packet of gloves. Probably kept them around to interfere with crime scenes, rather than impromptu safe sex, but the end result was the same.

She pulled the glove on with an audible snap that made Sherlock wince – good. She liked him a lot better when he was a little nervous, and there was something very satisfying about seeing those first cracks in the supercilious veneer.

She took the lube from her bag and got on the bed, dildo bobbing ridiculously. She could see Sherlock’s muscles tense up – anticipation, maybe a little fear.

She put her hand on his nape and drew it down over his spine. “Deep breaths, Sherlock.”

“I don’t need comforting,” he snapped. “Not that you’re very good at it.”

She retaliated by pushing her finger in up to the second knuckle, no lube. He gasped, head falling forward.

“Keep that up and I’m just going to take you dry,” she said, threatening.

“You would’t,” Sherlock replied. Not begging, just a statement of fact.

“Oh, wouldn’t I?”

“No. Despite appearances, you’re not actually a sadist. And the risk of serious damage would be too great.”

And the problem was that he was right, of course. She enjoyed riling him, keeping him on edge, but she had no real desire to actually hurt him.

“Fine, yes, you’re right. Do you feel pleased now? Does that get you  _hard_?”

“Not particularly,” Sherlock said, casually.

Sally rolled her eyes and squeezed some lube onto her gloved hand. She pushed two fingers in, taking care to go slow enough but still, she wasn’t exactly being careful. Sherlock grunted and she grinned, feeling a little stab of triumph.

That was her problem, really. There was a type of man she found both profoundly irritating and deeply attractive. The cocky boys, full of themselves, convinced they know better than anyone else – patronising little shits. And Sherlock was the pinnacle, really. But at least for Sherlock she’d found a solution.

She worked in a third finger and glanced at Sherlock’s cock. A bit less flaccid than before, but only just. He didn’t have the most excitable libido in the world, Sherlock.

More time for her, then.

“That’ll do,” he says, curtly.

“I’ll decide that, thank you.”

He sighed, put-upon. Besides, she was right: he wasn’t fully relaxed yet, and she really didn’t want to hurt him.

Well, not seriously anyway.

She spread her fingers, worked them in and out a couple of times, rotated her wrist. After a bit of careful prodding she found his prostate and she rubbed it gently. Another glance – yep, getting there, not a full-on erection but closer.

And Sherlock was starting to react, despite himself. Breathing speeding up, making little involuntary movements with his hips, trying to fuck himself on her fingers. Time, then.

She pulled her fingers back out and pulled the glove off. Sherlock spread his legs a bit further and breathed out, heavily, head bowed.

She’d never,  _ever_ get over the feeling of this, of seeing him ready and waiting, and the way he reacted to her when she pushed in, slowly, inch by fucking inch until he was starting to shake, just a little – fingers were never quite the same as a good hard  _cock_ , were they?

“There,” she said when she was as deep as she could go. “Got you.” She reached beneath his body and gave his cock a quick squeeze.

“Get  _on_ with it, then,” he snapped. He’d lost the superiority, though. First hints of desperation bleeding through.

“Fine.” She took Sherlock’ hips, nails digging into the sparse flesh, and settled into a sedate rhythm, pulling out less than halfway before plunging back in.

His back arched. He tried to push back, force her to go quicker, but she knew his tricks by now. She kept going slow, her own pace. Her choice.

She looked down at him, drinking in every single detail: Sherlock bleeding Holmes, on his knees on the bed, hands holding onto the headboard, rocking with each thrust of Sally’s hips.

 _Going by the state of your knees_ , how fucking  _dare_ he.

“Next time you’re being clever I’m going to call your bluff, you know,” she said.

“You won’t, it would damage your reputation.”

“Yeah? Sure about that?”

“Yes.” He gasped, briefly, when she changed the angle, and she thought that had shut him up for a bit but then he started his chatter again.

“The police force, more than anything, is a male-dominated environment, and you’ve had to fight for your place either way, so to – to openly discuss your sexual – ”

“For fuck’s sake, Sherlock, don’t you  _ever – ”_

A hard, deep thrust.

“Shut.”

And another one, as hard as she could.

“ _Up_?”

And another one, angled so she would hit his prostate.

Sherlock groaned. Did he… But no, he started up again.

“No, not that easily. Really, Donovan,” and he might sound breathless but he was mostly still  _cocky_ , “Put your back in it.”

“Keep it up and I’ll swear I’ll gag you.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he said, and this time it did had a hint of unease in it.

“Yeah?” She grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled him, his back against her chest. “I remember you saying that about the handcuffs, and we both know how that turned out.”

His breath hitched. She held him there for a bit, watching his muscles tremble with the effort, and then shoved him back down.

The thing was, she preferred him without restraints. Because it was an excuse, wasn’t it? But now: he could move away at any time, stop this, and the only reason why he didn’t, why he stayed on all fours like a good little boy, was because he wanted this.

She put her hand on the small of his back and changed her pace to shallow, light thrusts. Giving her a bit of a breather.

God, she would be sore tomorrow. Last time they did this she’d winced every time she’d had to go up the stairs. Even Greg had noticed something; luckily he was too much of a gentleman to say anything.

Sherlock made a particularly wanton noise. Sally stopped moving. “Anything you want?”

“Please, do – ” And then he stopped talking. She leaned sideways, just enough to see the frustrated line of his jaw, the pursed lips. Still in the stubborn phase, then.

She slid her hands to his hips, shifted about until her knees were steady on the mattress, and then she pulled almost all the way out.

Sherlock whined. Sally grinned.

And she slammed back in, full strength. Sherlock’s hands scrabbled at the sheets, his head dropping forwards.

She continued, pulling out as far as she could before pushing back hard, over and over again. She counted along – thinking absurdly of her gym training, but fuck knew this was a much more fun way of burning calories.

When she reached thirty-two, Sherlock made a  _noise_. Sounding almost like a curse, or a cry, but half-strangled, as if he tried to keep it in and was only partly successful.

“Sorry,” she said gleefully. “Didn’t quite catch that.”

“Nghh,” he groaned, “Pl-  _god_.”

She reached down with one hand and grabbed hold of the base of his cock. Sherlock  _keened_ in response.

And  _this_ , of course, was why she went through it all, why she tolerated the sarcasm and the bossiness and the disdain: because at this point, with her strap-on inside of him and her hand on his cock, he was completely and utterly  _hers_.

“Want to come, Sherlock Holmes?”

He moaned again, loudly; she probably wouldn’t even get a  _yes_ out of him anymore at this point. Not that it mattered.

She laughed. “Permission granted.” She pumped her hand up and down, in time with her thrusts. It only took a few before he came, with a strangled-sounding sob.

She shook her hand clean and undid the straps of the belt. She revelled briefly in the sight of Sherlock with the dildo still firmly up his arse, but then she took mercy and pulled it swiftly out again.

He collapsed onto his side, panting.

“Shut you up in the end, didn’t I?” she said cheerfully.

Sherlock mumbled something. In a minute or two he’d be back to his usual superior chatter, but for the moment he was completely, utterly fucked out. If only he was always like this.

Sally quickly pulled her clothes back on and put the strap-on in a plastic bag before shoving it back into her handbag. She gave Sherlock a considering look.

Sometimes she stayed, pulling his head between her legs and making him put that tongue to other uses – one of her  _other_ favourite ways of shutting him up.

But she was running late as it was. She pulled her jacket on and looked down at Sherlock’s prone form. His hair was sweaty, face flushed, chest moving up and down with his deep breathing. A very satisfying sight.

She bit her lip and briefly pressed the heel of her hand against her crotch. A quick trip to the loo to take the edge off before she got back into the office, that would probably be best right now.

She gave him a quick once-over – it wouldn’t feel right, leaving him here if something might be seriously wrong – but no, he seemed perfectly fine, simply… tired. Exhausted.

“Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes,” she said, cheerfully.

Sherlock mumbled something again. Couldn’t even manage a goodbye, the poor boy.

Sally turned, grabbed her bag and left, with a happy bounce in her step.


End file.
